


If Inconvenient Pretty Please Come Anyway

by jelly_pies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (sort of and only briefly but take care), FebuWhump2021, Gen, Humor as a coping mechanism, Hurt James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Hurt Tony Stark, Impaling, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Whump, when you think the whump is over think again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29199981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelly_pies/pseuds/jelly_pies
Summary: Tony gets kidnapped and tortured as Rhodey closes in on his location. Now if only all rescue missions went off without a hitch.For FebuWhump Day 4: impaling.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 46
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	If Inconvenient Pretty Please Come Anyway

**Author's Note:**

> Yay FebuWhump! This is the first of the unrelated one-shots I'll be writing for the event. It's physically whumpy so mind the tags ❤️
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Honeybear. Please come if convenient. If inconvenient_ _—pretty please_ _come anyway.”_

Rhodey rolls his eyes at the message on his heads-up display for the thousandth time. “Sherlock Holmes references, really, Tones?”

At least they hadn’t tortured Tony out of his sense of humor yet.

The sudden thought drives Rhodey to increase his flying speed. War Machine’s reflection whizzes by on the sparkling ocean below.

His best friend’s one slim hope, Rhodey knows, is that he or the quinjet can arrive at Tony’s last transmitted location before Tony's captors find the signal. Because then the bastards would probably transfer him, bringing the Avengers’ search back to square one—or else give Tony hell for that transmission.

Or both.

Rhodey flies faster.

* * *

Boy, were they giving him hell for that transmission.

Which isn’t fair in the slightest, Tony thinks, seeing as it was _their_ fault anyway. Who the hell leaves their equipment behind after an electrocution session? Even if he did pass out? Tony’s best guess is they were just itching to resume frying his nerves off as soon as he regained consciousness, which was why they left Tony ‘built-Iron-Man-in-a-cave’ Stark alone, with _electronics,_ for a precious few minutes. For once, his kidnappers’ sadism had worked out in Tony’s favor.

It very much _wasn’t_ working in his favor at the moment, sure, but one takes what one can get.

They have him gasping for life on the floor—Tony’s pretty sure at least half of his ribs are busted _(crowbars, really, do these guys have no imagination?)_ —when they bring out the hook.

_Shit, maybe they do have._

* * *

Rhodey swears loud enough to echo off the ship’s walls.

The few goons left behind cower in their handcuffs. Colonel Rhodes is well known as a force to be reckoned with, and that’s when he’s in a _good_ mood.

“I’ll squeeze what I can out of them,” Clint offers, “but they couldnʼt have moved Tony too far away. You and Nat should fly back out, start covering ground—”

Rhodey is already out the door.

“—or water… in this case,” Clint finishes. “Yeah, go get them.”

“There’s a cargo ship a hundred miles north,” Natasha reports from the quinjet, “another further southeast.”

“Jet’s faster, I’ll take the closer one.” Rhodey takes off. Behind him, he hears the quinjet follow suit, then quickly fade into the distance.

* * *

It was some kind of cargo hook: heavy, iron, and currently lodged two inches inside Tonyʼs shoulder.

The men had laughed like crazy when they stuck it in and Tony cried out; though what was so funny, he couldnʼt tell. Maybe it was the Iron Man/iron hook irony. Hah, double pun—

They push it further in. Tony screams. Then they drop him and _drag_ him across the floor with the hook, and it's as if his mouth is frozen open, but no sound comes out.

"Can't call for help with this one, huh, Stark?" they taunt, as if thatʼs anywhere near the vicinity of a hookʼs intended function in the first place.

A squeak of a pulley. Tony braces himself, but it still knocks the breath out of him when heʼs suddenly yanked into the air. Bloody fingers scrape at the rope just above the hook, grasping for any leverage against that cruel tip digging into his shoulder. They jiggle the rope up and down and Tony gasps sharply—and then it stops and he just hangs there, toes dangling inches off the floor like a human piñata.

_It would have been a mercy to stick that hook between his eyes instead, it really would have._

Tony inhales sharply, holds his breath. He canʼt afford this. Not when rescue is coming, _Rhodey_ is coming. Not when Tonyʼs strategy has been working so well. He finds the crumbs of humor in his situation, or he dies from the pain. Simple.

Itʼs his last single piece of armor. And they hadnʼt pried it off him yet.

So where was he? Oh, yes—human piñata. And a piñata needs sticks, right? The crowbars come out again.

Tony tightens his shaking hands on the rope, exhales as slowly, as evenly as he can, and steels himself for a whole new hefty batch of humor.

* * *

“Rhodes, negative on my mark.” Natashaʼs tone over the comms is tight. “Repeat, Tony isnʼt on this ship.”

“Roger. I've got mine in sight.” The ship looming overhead looks exactly like a regular cargo ship, but so did the one Rhodey just left, the one with Tonyʼs blood on the floor. “Two minutes out.”

_Two minutes to Tony._

“Coming to you.” Natasha signs off just as Rhodeyʼs AI, ROXY, displays its assessment of the cargo ship. Guards posted all around the shipʼs perimeter. Crates of weapons—ROXY even identifies some vibranium spears. Explosives.

Either theyʼd just found Tony, or Rhodey was about to stumble into a whole different party.

He flies faster.

* * *

Tony is shaking. From the blood loss, from the exhaustion, from the fucking _hook_ impaled in his flesh, there was no reason for him _not_ to be shaking.

Heʼs shaking where he lies face-down, slumped on the floor. His captors laugh and tease the rope taut. Tony shakes some more, whimpering at every little movement the hook makes.

And it had been making a lot of movements lately. The first time they pulled on the rope, hauling Tonyʼs body up over their heads, he had anticipated the drop. But Tony hadn't quite anticipated how the impact on the metal floor would drive the hook even further into his shoulder. Or how much it would fucking hurt.

Three drops, seven drops, a hundred drops later, Tony is shaking. And bleeding fresh out of jokes. Out of armor.

_God, Rhodey, hurry._

They haul him up again. _(Fuck, aren't they tired, please. Iʼm so tired.)_ They dangle him mid-air again, so Tony can never know the exact moment of the drop.

And through a little porthole on the far wall, Tony glimpses the ocean.

Sparkling water. His pain-addled mind makes a connection: dangled in the air, water. This is it, theyʼre gonna drop him in the ocean, and theyʼll never pull him back up again. They wonʼt be able to. Heʼs just going to sink, down, down. It looks peaceful out there. Maybe he wonʼt shake so much anymore in the water.

They drop him.

The same cold floor greets Tony, the same fire shooting up and down his arm at impact, and weak as he is, Tony strikes a fist on the floor—as if it had done him a personal betrayal just by being there. He looks up at the porthole, but all Tony can see from this angle is sky. No ocean. No relief from the pain and the shaking.

A sudden streak of gray flashes against the blue sky. But Tony looks away. Hasnʼt that damn porthole dangled his hopes enough?

The next time the men pull on the rope, Tony is crying soundlessly. Tony is shaking.

* * *

Stealth was always far from War Machine’s forte. But when backupʼs eight minutes out, and heʼs breaching a ship with enough explosives to wipe it off the face of the earth—a ship with his best friend inside—well, Rhodey’s grateful for the retro reflective panel network Tony installed in all the suits. That man put a lot of thought into his armor.

Radio chatter soon confirms this is the same group of mercenaries Clint has hog-tied back on the first ship. And heat signatures alert Rhodey to activity on the lower decks.

Show time.

Rhodey takes care of a couple of guards quickly and quietly enough, then sneaks down the hull, letting ROXY guide him to the assembled group thatʼs most likely to contain Tony. He resists the urge to fire missiles through every door he passes. _Tony first._

All his pent-up worry and rage finally releases when Rhodey blows the last door open. And there, in the middle of a circle of jeering goons, he finds Tony—curling in a fetal position on the floor.

Taking stock of the situation before the nearest goon so much as screams, Rhodey fires multiple targeting bullets in milliseconds. The men drop. Tony rolls away to avoid one, eyes widening when he sees his rescuer.

And Tony is… _shit._ Tony is a mess. Bruises, blood, an arm sticking out at the wrong angle and—is that a fucking _hook_ in his shoulder?

“Is that a fu—” Rhodey swallows the comment down with effort. Heʼs at Tonyʼs side in seconds, running a quick medical scan as his hands search for a safe place to land. Rhodey settles on Tonyʼs other arm, opposite the hook, and retracts his helmet.

 _Rhodey,_ Tony mouths, as if heʼs struggling to let himself believe it.

Rhodey exhales a breath he didn’t know heʼd been holding. “Tones.”

“It—itʼs…” Tony tries to sit up and groans; Rhodey eases him back down. Tonyʼs gaze never leaves him the whole time. “Itʼs… good to see you, Watson,” he croaks, his good hand coming up to grip Rhodeyʼs arm.

Despite the hoarseness and obvious pain in his friendʼs voice, Rhodey canʼt help but chuckle. “How the hell am _I_ the Watson?”

Itʼs as if a light returns to Tonyʼs eyes. He laughs. A weak, relieved, shaky laugh, and soon Rhodey joins him.

“Rhodes.” Natashaʼs voice comes over the comms at the same moment they hear blasts on the shipʼs upper deck. “Weʼre here,” she adds needlessly.

“Copy. Letʼs go home.” Rhodey squeezes Tonyʼs arm in assurance when his eyes fall on the hook. “ROX, we cutting this thing off or pulling out?”

Tony screws his eyes shut. “It isnʼt barbed, please God just pull it out.”

“Thereʼs considerable weight and strain. I recommend removal,” the AI concurs.

Rhodey holds Tony steady with one hand, grabs the base of the hook with the other, and pulls.

The metal slides out smoother than he expected, and soon Rhodeyʼs applying nanotech first aid on the stab wound while Tony bites his lip and obviously does his best not to let out little sounds of pain. He fails, for the most part, but for his sake Rhodey pretends not to notice.

Another large explosion rocks the ship.

“Rhodey!”

“Nat?”

“I think we may have slightly underestimated these guys!” A round of fire rips the deck as she says it; Rhodey hears the bullets both above his head and through the comms. He remembers the vibranium weapons in the crates—add that to the obvious fact that these men were able to kidnap _Tony Stark._ They arenʼt to be underestimated.

“I got him. Weʼre coming up.” He nods at Tony, an entire unspoken conversation passing between them.

_Can you stand?_

Tony glances down at himself. _Probably not._

Rhodey lifts him by the armpits; Tony gasps loudly when his bad shoulder gets jostled. _Yeah, this isnʼt gonna work, either._

“I guess weʼre doing this,” Rhodey says, and by Tonyʼs quick nod he knows theyʼre both on the exact same wavelength.

War Machine bridal carries Tony out of the room.

* * *

Itʼs not as uncomfortable as it sounds, even with the hard metal of Rhodeyʼs suit. In fact, if his shoulder and his ribs and his whole pesky body werenʼt currently giving him hell, Tony thinks he may just have a marriage joke to crack about this.

 _Iʼm thinking of jokes again,_ Tony realizes through his haze of pain. _Bless you, James Rupert Rhodes._

They work through a maze of hallways Tony barely recognizes from when he was dragged through with a sack on his head a couple of hours ago, and soon Tony finds himself at the end of a hallway, looking up a hatch at blinding sunlight.

It sounds like a war zone up there. He instinctively curls closer to Rhodey.

“Nat, coming at—”

Rhodey doesnʼt get to finish. Bullets rain down the hall.

Flaps whip up on Rhodeyʼs armor to shield Tony—luckily theyʼre only being attacked from behind. Tony hears Rhodey return bullets of his own—a whoosh of missiles, blasts all around, groans, shouting—

And thatʼs when the room explodes.

* * *

A flash on Rhodeyʼs heads-up display: _Modified weapons. Vibranium._

One thought overtaking all others in his mind: _Tony._

And thatʼs when the room explodes.

* * *

Tony is shaking. And the reason why comes to him in fragments.

Shots no longer ring out in the hall. In fact, it is deathly, eerily quiet. Thatʼs not why Tony is shaking.

He thinks he hears Natashaʼs voice coming toward him. He thinks he sees Clint come into his field of vision. It could be both of them, it could be neither—for some reason, Tony isnʼt overwhelmed with relief as his brain tells him he should be. Thatʼs not why Tony is shaking.

His shoulder still throbs. His arms pound with an unending ache but he still brings them up, still uses them to grab and hold and beg. But the pain is not why Tony is shaking.

Rhodey lies in front of him. _Rhodey_ is the one Tony is grabbing at and holding and begging. Rhodeyʼs eyes are closed. Rhodey doesnʼt move.

Thereʼs a foot-long vibranium shard impaled straight through his torso, punched straight through his armor.

Thatʼs why Tony is shaking.

Somehow Tony finds a pair of arms wrapping around him, gently pulling him away. Somehow heʼs being half-carried under sunlight and the whir of a jetʼs engines, craning his neck and shouting for Rhodey all the while. Somehow heʼs lying in a medical pod with his bad arm outstretched, Natashaʼs trademark stoic face now etched with concern as she gazes down at him.

Somehow the image of Rhodey lying unconscious doesnʼt leave him the whole time.

Tony only stops shaking when the sedatives finally, mercifully kick in. His tumultuous dreams are still full of Rhodey.

* * *

“... If inconvenient, pretty please come anyway. Hm.” Slowly, like an old TV program through static, Tonyʼs voice comes into focus. “You didnʼt like that? Nat said you didnʼt like it.”

“Y-y—” Rhodey feels his voice cracking with disuse, and pauses to lick his lips. “You were being tortured, but… c-couldnʼt be more nonchalant if you tried.”

Tony yelps. “Youʼre up!”

“Of course I…” Rhodey blinks, taking in the room. Compound, his brain supplies. Medbay. He turns his head to Tonyʼs voice, and finds his friend half-tangled in tubes in a hospital bed, similar to how Rhodey imagines he himself must be. “Were you… talking to me while I was unconscious?”

Tonyʼs face shines with relief, which he channels into a smirk. “Youʼre a better listener that way.”

“What happened?”

“Weʼre impalement buddies.”

The memory comes rushing in all at once, and Rhodey is suddenly glad heʼs already lying down. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Let me call the doctors.”

“Will I live?” Rhodey deadpans.

Tony doesnʼt banter back, to his surprise. Instead his eyes get a haunted, faraway look before focusing back on Rhodey. “Do me a solid,” he says, his voice lower than before. “Next time you—youʼre War Machine, not some human shield.”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “No, that roleʼs only reserved for you, right?”

_“Rhodes.”_

“Tony.”

“You died.” Itʼs practically a whisper. “Your heart stopped. A couple of times. I mean, I wasnʼt there, I was out cold, but they told me.”

“Hm.” _One thought overtaking all others in his mind: Tony._ Rhodey remembers. That blast would have hit _him_ instead _._ “Youʼre welcome, buddy.”

“Damn you, you couldnʼt be more nonchalant if you tried,” Tony throws Rhodey’s words back at him without heat.

But itʼs more than nonchalance, Rhodey knows. More than humor. In a way, itʼs a kind of armor.

And he knows Tony understands, because itʼs one of the many things they share.

Straining with the effort, Rhodey flips his friend off. Tony laughs. A hearty, freeing laugh, and soon, Rhodey joins him.

And if the medical staff enter a couple of minutes later to see their two most seriously injured patients laughing, bickering over whether or not theyʼre “the Sherlock,” and chucking half-insults and “love youʼs” at each other in equal measure, well—itʼs nothing but a sign that everythingʼs gonna turn out alright.

**Author's Note:**

> … yeah this was very much inspired by the whump scenes from the RDJ Sherlock Holmes movies. Thanks for reading, I'd love it if you want to yell at me in the comments!


End file.
